


Semper Fidelis

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Vulpes isn't in the position to kill Joshua, Joshua doesn't particularly want to kill Vulpes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semper Fidelis

Explorer armor is good for travel- light, but defensible- and though it boasts the colours of his Lord brightly by day, it blends well enough into the shadows and sands in the night. Dead Horse armor, on the other hand, offers about as much protection as a coyote pelt, while the Sorrows dress in barely enough to preserve a semblance of modesty, and for no reason other than that. Tribals. At least the White Legs are slightly better, with pauldrons and leg guards not dissimilar from those of the Prime armor Vulpes wears in open combat (which he detests, but he does as he must) though they are still, for the most part, nude.

There is something to be said about the tribal armor, Vulpes supposes. If your stomach is pressed to a ridge while you glare down a pair of binoculars, you’re unlikely to hear someone in swaths of cloth and bare feet coming until they’ve smashed a war club to the back of your skull.

He awakes sputtering into water. They pull him up, and drop him on the shore, speaking in foreign dialects and broken English. Vulpes watches quietly, discreetly pulling at his bonds. With enough time- or something sharp- he could break free. The Dead Horses seem to come to an agreement, and drag him by the arms (he must be dragged, for his legs are also bound in two places) into a cave.

The Burned Man is... less than Vulpes was expecting. Much less. He’s of average height, no grand throne or apparel, but the charred body that peeks between bandages around his eyes and at the fingertips proves this is no other. He sits before he addresses Vulpes, posture an easy, passive sort of leadership. The Dead Horses set him on his knees, and back out of the room. So, they trust their leader can defend himself.

“You’ll get nothing from me.” the Frumentarius assures.

He picks up a club, but then a screwdriver, and attaches a bullet case to the weapon. “You haven’t tried smashing your head into the rocks yet, so perhaps you aren’t an explorer.”

“I trust myself not to give anything away.”

“No. Caesar trusts you not to give anything away.” He blinks, and sets down the club to look Vulpes over. He pauses in pulling at the leather wrapped around his wrists. “Frumentarius?”

“True to Caesar.” Vulpes says, by way of neither confirming nor denying.

“Yes, yes, I know the sayings.” the Burned Man brushes off, threading a screw through another casing. “Well, you aren’t here for my life.”

“What brings you to that assumption?” Vulpes asks, prodding for information while giving nothing away.

The Burned Man does the same. “A Frumentarius on an assassination would be in better armor.” The bonds give way, and Vulpes makes quick work of the ones on his legs. “In that case, you have what you came for. I live, and there is nothing Caesar can do about it.” His ripper sits on the corner of the table. The Burned Man reaches for it, offers it to Vulpes just as he frees himself.

“You may go.”


End file.
